This is all mine, and youre nothing here, the daughter declared, demanding the room be cleared.
Mum, you left the gas on again! shouted Emily, bursting into the kitchen and yanking the stove dial shut. How many times do I have to tell you? Youll burn the house down!
Margaret flinched, tearing her gaze from the window where shed been watching the sparrows on the ledge.
Dont shout at me, Emily. I just got distracted I was boiling water for tea.
Distracted! Emily scoffed. At your age, distraction is dangerous. The neighbours have been complaining about the smell of gas in the hallway.
She wasnt wrong. Margaret had grown forgetful, especially since burying her husband, Henry, a year ago. It was as if, with him, the little things had slipped awaythough she remembered the big things perfectly. The day Emily was born. Henrys proposal. Her daughters first steps. But yesterday? The day before? A fog.
Ill make us tea, Margaret said, conciliatory. Would you like some scones? I baked them this morning. With raisins, the way you like.
Emily sat at the table, drumming her fingers on the vinyl cloth.
Mum, I need to talk to you. Seriously.
Something in her tone set Margaret on edge. She set the cups down carefully, sliced the scones.
Go on, then.
You cant live alone anymore. Its not safefor you or the neighbours. The gas, the electricity What if you fell? Who would find you?
Emily, what are you on about? I manage perfectly well. So I forget things sometimeseveryone does.
Emily shook her head, pulling papers from her handbag.
Its already sorted. Ive arranged for you to go to a nice care home. Theyll look after youmeals on time, medication, activities. People your own age. You wont be lonely.
Margarets face drained of colour. The scone turned to dust in her throat.
A care home? Emily, have you lost your mind?
Its not some grim old folks home. A proper private residence. Ive already paid the deposit.
Without asking me? Margarets voice trembled. Emily, this is my home. My whole life is here.
Mum, be realistic. Youre rattling around in a three-bedroom house. The bills are enormous, the place is falling apart. And Im the one paying for it all.
Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but Emily held up a hand.
Besides, James wants to move to London. Weve decided to get married. This house would be perfectgreat location, good layout. Id rather not sell, since its the family home.
James? Margaret frowned. Youve only been seeing him six months.
Mum, Im forty-two. I know what I want. James is serioushe has his own business. He doesnt mind if I quit my job, focus on myself for once.
And where does that leave me?
In the care home! Youll be happy there, I promise. I looked it upyoga, painting, choir. New friends, a proper social life.
Margaret stood, pacing the kitchen. Forty years of breakfasts at this table. Forty years of gazing through this window. Emily had taken her first steps on these tiles, done her homework at this table. Henry had read the morning paper here, tutting at the headlines.
So youve already decided? Without asking me?
What was there to ask? Emily shrugged. Youd have said no. I took responsibility.
Responsibility, Margaret repeated. Emily, Im your mother, not some burden.
No one said you were a burden! But we have to be practical. Ive spent thirty years putting you and Dad first. Now its my turn.
The words stung. Margaret remembered scrimping for Emilys education, sewing her prom dress, babysitting little Sophie so Emily could work.
Sophie Where was she in all this?
What about Sophie? Does she agree to sending her gran away?
Emily looked away.
Sophies grown. Shes at uni in Edinburgh, hardly comes home. No need to upset her.
So you havent even told her?
I will. Once youre settled.
Margaret sank back into her chair. Her legs had turned to lead.
And if I refuse?
Mum, you dont have a choice. The deposits paid. James moves in next week. Pack what you needwell sort the rest later.
My things? Emily, every teaspoon, every cup is mine! That china set was a wedding gift! The tablecloth I embroidered myself! And my plantswholl care for them?
You can have plants at the home. And the china Mum, they have their own crockery. Why drag old things around?
Old things. Emily had called their family treasures old things.
Margaret went to the sideboard, took down a photographher and Henry cradling newborn Emily. So young. So hopeful.
Remember when your dad built that swing in the garden? Youd spend hours on it. I was terrified youd fall.
Mum, dont do this. It only makes it harder.
Or when you had pneumonia at school? I stayed by your bed two weeks. Your dad took leave to relieve me.
Mum, please
And when that boywhat was his name? Mark?dumped you. You cried for a month. I stayed up nights telling you thered be others.
Emily stood abruptly.
Enough! Its not my fault lifes turned out like this! Not my fault you cant manage alone! But I wont sacrifice my life on the altar of your old age!
Old age, Margaret whispered. Im sixty-nine, Emily. Not some decrepit old woman.
You forget the gas! Lose things! Mrs. Fletcher said she saw you outside wearing only one slipper!
Margaret remembered. Shed taken the bins out and hadnt noticed. But was that reason enough
Emily, I understand you want your own life. But must it be like this? I could stay in my room, keep quiet. James wouldnt even know I was here.
You dont understand. James needs space. Quiet. And youyou blast the telly because you cant hear. Clatter dishes at dawn. Well have guests, parties. Its awkward having a mother hovering.
Ill be silent as a mouse. Take long walks.
No, Mum. Its decided.
Margaret slumped in her chair. For the first time in years, she felt utterly powerless. After Henrys death, shed thought the worst was over. Shed been wrong.
And if I refuse?
Emily pulled another document from her bag.
I can go to court. Have you deemed unfit. The neighbours have given statements about your forgetfulness. The GP would back me.
Youve already spoken to doctors?
A psychiatrist. He said with my testimony, the court would likely side with me. Especially as your only child, concerned for your welfare.
Margaret said nothing. This couldnt be her Emily, her baby, whose tiny hands shed held crossing roads, whose tears shed kissed away.
When?
Monday. A car will collect you. Well pack your things this weekend.
Todays Friday.
Yes. Youve time to prepare.
Emily stood, adjusting her handbag.
Dont be dramatic. Its not the end. Youll make friends. Ill visitSundays, probably.
Sundays, Margaret echoed.
Maybe its for the best. Since Dad died, youve shut yourself away. There, youll have company.
I go to the shops. The GP. The post office for my pension. Thats not shut away.
Whatever. Its settled.
Emily turned to leave but paused at the door.
And dont you dare call Sophie and upset her. Shes got exams.
The door snapped shut. Margaret sat alone in the kitchen, the scent of cold scones and bitterness hanging in the air.
She cleared the table mechanically, washed the cups. Every movement felt laboured, as if she were moving underwater. Emilys words looped in her mind: unfit, old things, its settled.
That evening, she took out the photo albums. Emily in her school uniform. The three of them at the seaside, Henry swinging a giggling Emily in the air. Emilys graduation, beaming in her cap and gown.
When had it changed? When had her daughter started seeing her as an obstacle?
Perhaps when she married that David. Hed disliked Margaret from the start, always hinting that a young couple needed space
